


Beauty School Dropout

by starlightandpinot



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: COVID-19, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Quarantine Humor, Self-Indulgent, borderline crack but we have fun, they are stuck at home during corona and kevin's hair is suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightandpinot/pseuds/starlightandpinot
Summary: It's Spring, 2020, the ~Rona~ is running rampant, and the boys are stuck inside. What ever shall they do? (plot twist: it isn't sex!)Or: I know this is about four months late, but here, have a McPriceley quarantine drabble.
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	Beauty School Dropout

**Author's Note:**

> I totally forgot I even wrote this ridiculous fic until I found it the other day. Enjoy!

Quarantine has been nothing, if not a good teacher, and over the past two months they’ve been holed up together in their tiny apartment, Kevin and Connor have learned a whole lot.

For example, Kevin has learned that he is actually quite the introvert, perfectly content to stay inside and do his job from the comfort of his own couch without any real longing to go back to the office or see people at all, really. Connor, on the other hand—a man who once relished in solo activities such as reading and playing the piano—can’t seem to go more than ten minutes without opening his mouth or cracking his knuckles or both. Often while Kevin is working. Or trying to, at any rate.

Long story short: Connor talks. Connor talks a _lot_. 

Kevin has always known this, of course, as the two of them have been living together for the past three years and have known each other for over five, but there is just something so markedly... _different_ about being together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, with no end in sight, that makes everything feel like _more_ than it is; that makes it seem as though Connor—who Kevin now knows to be the biggest extrovert on the goddamn planet—has suddenly come down with a chronic case of perpetual boredom.

“Are you working?” He asks from the other side of the room, anxiously tapping his foot against the hardwood floor. 

Kevin peers over the rim of his glasses, only to find his boyfriend staring at him intently, one leg crossed over the other on the armchair, chin in palm, both of them gyrating in tune to his restless foot.

“It’s called ‘work from home’, isn’t it?" Kevin replies, then looks back down to his laptop, where at least twenty emails are sitting, waiting for him to answer. 

Connor gestures limply with his hand. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning, I’m _working_ ,” he looks back up, exasperated. “Or at least I _was_.” 

“Right, but are you _working_ -working or are you ‘working’,” Connor accentuates the last bit with air quotes.

Kevin glares at him, trying his best to look unamused. It’s difficult, though, because Connor is very good at being amusing and Kevin can’t exactly stop the way the corner of his mouth pulls up just a little, whether he wants it to or not.

“I’m _working_ ,” he clarifies, allowing the little _tug_ on his lips to grow into a full-on smirk. “ _Working_ -working.”

This news seems to disappoint Connor, who leans all the way back into his chair with an elongated groan and pretends to yank his hair out. And then he resumes the foot tapping thing and the fingernails drumming on the table thing and Kevin _cannot_ concentrate like this.

“Think you can do that somewhere else?”

Connor lets out another sigh and sits up in his chair. “I don’t mean to bother you. I really don’t. I’m just so... _bored_.”

“How can you be bored?” Kevin asks in disbelief. “There are a million things you could be doing right now.”

Connor levels his head and settles his gaze on Kevin. "Like what?”

“Like… you could go for a walk.” He gestures toward the door. “Go for a run or something.”

“A _run_?” Connor makes a horrified face. “No, no, I don’t _run_.”

“You could start.”

“I don’t even know how to run.”

“Well, like my mom always says: there’s no time like the present.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass.” He wrinkles his nose and settles back into his chair.

“You could go into the kitchen and do one of those five hundred puzzles you bought that you never even bothered to open.”

“They were on _sale_ , okay?” Connor defends without missing a beat—this isn’t the first time Kevin has brought up the _puzzles_. “Everyone and their mother has been doing them. They’re all the rage right now."

“So, go _rage_ in the kitchen then and let me work.”

“I suppose I could do one.” He tilts his head, puckering his lips into a small pout. “But puzzles are such a solo activity. I miss _people_. I miss the _theatre_. I miss the blinding lights of Broadway, the heat of the spotlights burning at my skin while a thunderous applause erupts from the orchestra.”

Kevin lifts his head and sends his boyfriend a skeptical glance. Connor has been in one— _one_ —off-Broadway play since coming to New York three years ago and Kevin is fairly certain he’s never felt the heat of the spotlights burning at his skin while a thunderous applause erupts from the orchestra.

“Well… you’re an actor, aren’t you?”

Connor looks at him curiously. “So?"

“Soooo, why don’t you go and… pretend to be someone else. Experiment or something. Talk to yourself. I don’t know. Just let me work, okay?” 

Kevin thinks it’s a pretty sound idea, but Connor just glares at him.

“Do you have _any_ idea how ridiculous that sounds?" 

“What?”

“‘Go be someone else’?" He makes a face. "What does that even mean?”

Kevin sighs and looks back down to his screen. "I don't know, I’m out of ideas.”

“I wanna do something with _people_.”

“That isn't an option.”

“I know.” Connor turns his head and looks longingly out the window. 

He’s quiet for a few minutes after that. _Suspiciously_ quiet. And sure enough, when Kevin looks back up, he finds Connor, still sitting there in the exact same position, only now there's this mischievous… _glint_ in his eyes. 

“You could let me cut your hair,” he offers, scooting excitedly towards the edge of his seat.

Kevin blinks, hoping he didn't hear that right. “What?” 

“Let me cut your hair.”

He _did_ hear it right, but there's no way in Hell he'd ever let Connor do... _that..._ to his hair. Not now, not ever.

“No.” Kevin laughs and looks back down. “No way. We’ve been over this a thousand times, Connor. The answer is no.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” he pleads, fidgeting eagerly with his feet. “It’ll be fun!”

“No offense, but I’m not letting you come anywhere near these guys,” he points to the locks of perfectly coiffed hair on his head, “with a pair of scissors.”

“Ugh." Connor flops back into his chair. "You can be such a fuddy duddy sometimes, you know that? Everybody’s doing it. Besides, we need something fun to put on Facebook.”

“No, _you_ need something fun to put on Facebook. _I’m_ perfectly content to sit here and focus on my work.”

“Okay, but that isn’t fair because I _have_ no work.”

“You could… _look_ for work.” Kevin waves a pointed hand.

“Okay, yes, you're right, and I will," Connor says, "But you have to admit, it _is_ getting kind of… floppy.”

"What is?”

“Your hair. It’s getting floppy.” 

Kevin scoffs. “It is _not_.”

“Uh, yeah, it is. But you know what? I can _fix_ that for you,” he practically squeals as he gets up and makes his way over to Kevin, “If you let me _cut_ it.” 

Emails entirely forgotten with this shocking news that his hair has gotten _floppy_ , Kevin sits up a little straighter on the couch, making a face as he smooths it back.

“My hair is _not_ floppy.”

“Oh, yeah? See for yourself,” Connor reaches into his pocket and hands him his phone. It’s already set to selfie camera mode, as though he had it at the ready. _Suspicious._

Kevin looks down at the makeshift “mirror” to view his hair and, as it turns out: Connor is absolutely right. Now that he’s really looking at it up close like this, he has to admit it _does_ look a little… _scraggly_. He hasn’t wanted to admit it, but deep down he knows it hasn’t been coiffing up the same way it used to. The ends are all heavy and split and even with all that product he’s been using to try and keep it looking thick and fluffy, it is sort of _flopping_ all over the place. He _does_ need a haircut, there is no denying that, but he isn’t exactly keen on _Connor_ being the one to do the cutting. 

“See?” Connor lifts a clump of the offending locks with a discerning face. “Floppy.”

“Whatever,” Kevin sighs and hands the phone back to Connor. He turns back down to his computer, pretending to resume his focus on his work, but all he can really think about is how terrible his hair had looked in the camera.

“We’re under mandatory quarantine,” he states the obvious a moment later, more so to remind himself than Connor. “It’s not like anyone is even gonna see me like this.”

“I'm sorry, did I forget to take off my invisibility cloak?” 

Kevin peers at him, confused. But then Connor smiles, letting Kevin know he’s only joking. 

“Are you telling me I don't count as _someone_?”

“Oh. No, I didn't mean… I didn’t mean it like _that_.” Kevin’s face instantly flushes, work emails once again forgotten. “Of course you’re someone. You’re my every… one.” He makes a face at his own misspeak, shaking his head as he turns his attention back down to his screen. “You know what I mean.”

“I know,” Connor chuckles as he makes his way over to the couch, “I’m just teasing.” 

And then he plops down beside Kevin in the very small space between his seat and the arm of the couch, wrapping an arm around his middle and smushing up against him.

“But in all seriousness, you might wanna give yourself a little spruce every now and then,” Connor says, snuggling into his chest. “You should care about how you look for you. _And_ me.” He walks two fingers up Kevin’s chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt in that way that drives him crazy. “Especially now that we’re home alone with nothing better to do than…” 

“Stop,” Kevin grins, shushing him by placing a lone finger to his lips. “You know I like to look good for you.”

“Then let me cut your _hair_.” 

Kevin sighs and falls back into the couch. He holds Connor’s gaze for a long moment, wondering why he’s even entertaining the idea of letting his boyfriend anywhere _near_ his precious locks of hair with a pair of extremely sharp scissors. 

But of course he’s entertaining it, because it’s Connor and he loves Connor and he wants nothing more than to make him happy.

“You _really_ wanna cut it, don’t you?” 

“I really do,” he bites down on his bottom lip as if to keep from squealing, “I mean I really, _really_ do.”

“Fine,” Kevin concedes. “I’ll let you cut it on _one_ condition.” He holds up a finger.

“Oh, yeah?" Connor's eyes light up. "What's that?”

“You have to _promise_ me you’ll stop interrupting me during work hours. Evenings and weekends, I’m all yours, but Monday through Friday, from nine to five, I am _off_ limits. Deal?”

His boyfriend tuts, looking affronted. “For how long?”

“I don’t know…” Kevin shrugs. “Forever. Until this quarantine thing is over.”

Connor makes a pouty face as he leans in close, circling his arms around Kevin’s neck and brushing their noses together. "Forever? That’s an awfully long time.”

“I know.”

“Too long.”

“I know.”

“That’s gonna be tough," he places a small kiss to the tip of Kevin’s nose, making him squirm a little in his seat, “I don’t know if I can last that long.”

Kevin pulls him in closer, careful not to let one of his legs crush his laptop. “Well, if you want to cut my hair, then you’re just gonna have to try.” 

“Fine.” Connor smirks, then runs a slow finger over Kevin’s lips, making them part. “I’ll _try_ not to bother you while you work if _you_ let me cut your hair.”

“Then you, Connor McKinley,” he latches onto his boyfriend's hand and shakes it, “have yourself a deal.” 

“Ooooh, this is so exciting!” Connor squees, anxiously shuffling his feet as he leans back into the couch. “What made you change your mind?” 

“A peaceful work from home environment for the indefinite foreseeable future in exchange for _one_ possibly-terrible haircut? I can live with that.”

“Hey, now,” Connor scoffs, “I am going to give you an _amazing_ haircut.”

“Yeah, but even if you don't,” Kevin shrugs, “It’s not like anyone’s gonna see it. It’ll grow back before this whole thing is over and then I can get a _real_ haircut by someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” He smirks, then follows it up by sticking his tongue out.

“Ugh.” Connor lifts his head and meets Kevin’s eyes. “You have no faith in me, do you?”

“I have faith in _you_ ,” he pokes Connor in the chest, “Just not in your ability to cut my hair.” 

“I’ll have you know, I used to cut my cousin Gracie’s hair all the time.”

“When you were fourteen.”

“ _And_ I went to beauty school.”

“For _eleven days_ ,” Kevin laughs, taking great pleasure in bringing up Connor's epic cosmetology school failure. He always does. “You lasted _eleven_ days.”

“Twelve,” Connor corrects him, fidgeting a little under the scrutiny. He looks away. “It was twelve days.”

“Eleven.” Kevin grins. “The day you walked out after the teacher gave you a D on your nail hygiene quiz doesn’t count. You were home before noon.”

“Whatever,” Connor huffs and turns back to him. “I’m giving you a haircut and it’s going to be fabulous. You’ll see.”

Kevin snorts, because he highly doubts it’s going to be anything but a disaster, and turns back to his laptop. Connor grabs a book from the shelf to try and quench his boredom and Kevin tries—once again—to focus on his work. They sit together in relative silence for a while, save for the sounds of page flipping and keyboard tapping, and Kevin actually manages to get back into the zone long enough to get some real work done. 

Until he hears an annoying _hum_ coming from Connor's direction, followed by the incessant tapping of feet.

“Come on, you _promised,_ ” Kevin throws down his glasses with a sigh.

“I wasn’t even talking!”

“You were making... _sounds_. Stop it.”

Connor rolls his eyes and turns back to the book in his lap. They actually manage a few more minutes of quiet before he starts fidgeting again. “So when do you think I can—”

“Later," Kevin sighs. "We’ll do it later. After I’m done with these emails.”

“Right.” Connor nods, but then not even a minute goes by before he asks, “And by _later_ , you mean—”

Kevin snaps his head up from his computer and sends Connor his best no-nonsense glare. 

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” he gets up off the couch, hands raised in surrender. “But remember: come five o'clock, you belong to _me_ , mister. Or should I say… you belong to mister scissors. _Tk tk_ ,” he makes a cutting motion with his fingers as he walks away, flashing Kevin a wicked smile before disappearing down the hall that leads to their bedroom. 

Kevin looks back down at his laptop, feeling a twinge of regret at agreeing to let Connor take a pair of shears to his head. Maybe he shouldn’t have given Connor this much power. But a deal is a deal, he supposes, and how bad can it end up being, _really_?

* * *

“Will you _please_ chill out? You're making me nervous,” Connor says as he once again straightens Kevin’s head. “You’d think I was coming after you with a knife, jeez.”

“I am chill,” Kevin lets out a strained exhale. “This is chill.”

“This is _not_ chill,” Connor says. “This is the polar opposite of chill. You're... shaking. You're _literally_ shaking.”

Kevin expels another uneven breath. It’s labored and jagged, but he just can’t help it—he’s terrified. 

“Please, just… take a deep breath and calm down, okay?” Connor tries to soothe him. “I'm only gonna give it a little trim. Just enough for Stella to get her groove back.”

“I told you to stop calling it that, didn’t I?” Kevin anxiously snaps. “Stop calling it Stella. I told you to stop calling it Stella.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Alright, just... look straight ahead for me, okay? And whatever you do: _don’t_ move.”

“Why?” Panic rises in Kevin’s throat and he once again turns his head. “What happens if I move?”

“You die,” Connor says, and swiftly turns it back.

“ _What_?” 

“I’m _kidding_ ,” he laughs, then snorts, “Jesus, lighten up.” Kevin’s face reddens as he sinks back into the chair. “But if you want your hair to look good, just please... stay still.” 

Kevin does as he’s told, for once, and keeps his head held perfectly straight, watching with great apprehension as Connor carefully slices off small chunks of his hair; one by one, agonizingly slow. He can’t bear to watch any longer and so he just clamps his eyes shut, counting down the seconds until it’s over. 

“Okay. All done,” Connor says, proudly, and Kevin reluctantly wills his eyelids back up. “What do you think?”

“Oh, wow,” he gasps, pleasantly surprised at how even and fluffy his formerly-floppy hair looks in the mirror. He reaches up and runs a hand through it. He didn’t really expect Connor to fuck up his hair completely, but he certainly wasn’t expecting it to look this… _good_. 

Connor beams. “Not bad for twelve days of beauty school, huh?”

“Eleven,” Kevin says. “And not bad at all. It looks great.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't write it because I'm lazy, but I feel like Kevin and Connor *definitely* went at it like bunnies directly after this. XD I found a few more ridiculous, half-started quarantine drabbles that I'll probably finish and add on to this as chapters even though it's a few months late to be super relevant lmao.


End file.
